75 Things Squidward Hates About Squilliam
by Tentacle Kisses
Summary: Series of interconnected one-shots detailing the horrendously awkward bond between a certain cashier and a certain multibillionaire. Because in the end, the line between love and hate isn’t nearly as distinct as we’d care to believe. Squidill slash
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is my first fanfic of all time, and my first time writing for this couple. They're my absolute favorite, though. This is just an intro sort of thing to a series of interconnected drabbles and smut fics I'll update sporadically, whenever I'm inspired. It's Squidill, so naturally it's slash. Language and sexual content all around._

**Seventy Five Things I Hate About Squilliam Fancyson III:**

1. His snobbery

2. The way he flaunts his wealth

3. And his fame

4. And his body

5. But mostly his wealth and fame

6. His self-satisfied laugh

7. His nervous laugh

8. His laugh right before he starts crying

9. His laugh when something strikes him as funny

10. Or when someone tickles him

11. Not so much on his stomach or his feet, but right at the base of his neck. It's actually more of a squeal than a laugh

12. The blobby birthmark beneath his bellybutton. The one he claims looks like a heart, but actually looks more like a deformed lima bean

13. The way he rolls his Rs when he's overly pleased with himself

14. The look he gives me when he knows he's right

15. The look he gives me when he knows _I'm_ right

16. The look he gives me when he's afraid I might not want him anymore

17. The look he gives me when I unintentionally hurt him

18. The look he gives me when I intentionally cheer him up

19. I meant unintentionally. When I UNintentionally cheer him up. Because I certainly wouldn't waste my time cheering him up purposefully

20. The fact that he's ambidextrous

21. The way he can curl onto the couch as though he's insubstantial, bundled under a blanket with that lost-puppy expression he tends to get when he thinks no one's noticing.

22. Not that I would ever notice, because I hate him too much to care

23. His overzealous sexual appetite

24. Which isn't limited to any set race, gender, age, species, or … well, anything

25. The way he mentally recites the alphabet whenever he doesn't want to hear something, but his face looks calm, so no one can ever tell when he's upset or tuning you out

26. The way he always remembers the things I said/believed/did in high school, even though I forgot them moments after they happened

27. The fact that he was so damn popular in high school

28. But he doesn't have a best friend

29. Or any friends, if you ask him

30. Even though he's almost never alone

31. Because he fears abandonment, even if he hates clinginess

32. The fact that asymmetry bothers him

33. Which is probably why his unibrow is so neatly trimmed

34. In fact, I hate his unibrow

35. Especially the way it bunches slightly when he's confused

36. I especially hate the way he hogs the blankets

37. And cuddles

38. But only when he's asleep

39. I hate the way his nose wrinkles when he's disgusted

40. And the way his eyes widen when he's surprised

41. And sparkle when he's pleased

42. I doubt my eyes ever sparkle

43. The way his body matches mine perfectly

44. And the way he fits perfectly inside me

45. And I fit perfectly inside him

46. (because god forbid he even be consistent with dominating-why does he always make ME do everything?)

47. The scared little face he gets right before I fuck him

48. As if he thinks I might actually hurt him this time

49. The almost-pained expression he makes when he cums

50. The way he tastes

51. The fact that he tastes better than I do

52. And yes, I'm including jizz in that category

53. Not that I've ever eaten my own jizz to verify this fact

54. Or, uh, his either

55. …

56. The way he leaves after we fuck and I worry that he won't come back

57. The fact that he always, always comes back

58. The fact that lately he's been staying longer than usual

59. And not just for the sex, either

60. The fact that he can't cook worth shit

61. And isn't the kind of guy to make someone breakfast in bed

62. But would happily order in, if we were staying at his house

63. Except we almost never are at his house

64. Because he both loves and loathes his wealth

65. The fact that we live vicariously through one another

66. The way he humiliates me in front of his friends

67. The fact that this doesn't even bother me any longer

68. Because at least he's talking about me at all

69. The sound his feet make on my linoleum

70. The sound his body makes against my mattress

71. The sound he makes when he cums

72. Like a scallop or a snail or something weak and defenseless

73. Not really pleased, either, but just … whatever.

74. The fact that he told me he loved me last night, and I think this time I might actually believe him

75. And I think I just might love him too.


	2. Je t'aime, Squiddy

_A/N: I really love Lady Marmalade, though I don't think listening to it while watching House Fancy is the best way to get ficspiration. Oh well, enjoy!_

He couldn't decide if Squilliam had the cutest laugh he'd ever heard, or the most grating.

At the moment, however, Squidward was leaning towards grating.

"You can't speak French?" The words were broken with the occasional giggle, the entire question ending with a rapid-fire round of intense chuckling. His body bent down the middle, arms wrapped around his stomach to hold himself together. Diaphragm spasmed as tears started slipping down his face, the hilarity of it all too much for Squilliam to handle.

"No," Squidward nearly growled this. "I took Spanish in high school. Besides, I—"

"I took Spanish, too," Squilliam reminded him, poking him in the nose before laughing again. "And Italian and French. What kind of patron of the arts hasn't mastered the Romantic languages, hm?"

"Well, we can't all have private tutors, Squilliam."

"Why not?" The fact that his face was open, completely earnest with this, unibrow raised high, only made this situation that much more awkward.

Or hilarious.

Or heartbreaking.

Squidward was leaning more towards grating, though that hadn't even been an option.

"Fuck off, Squilliam."

"Oh, come on, Squiddy, you know I'm just teasing you."

Squidward stormed off, as dignified as one could manage while not speaking French (whatever that had to do with dignified exits). Unfortunately, he didn't get far before the other grabbed onto him, wrapping arms around his chest, Squilliam's chest sticking to Squidward's back, while cheek nuzzled neck. Squidward's arms flailed for a moment, a tiny groan of surprise escaping his throat.

"You're just so cute when you're upset," Squilliam panted, tip of his tentacle slipping down Squidward's stomach. "Je t'aime, Squiddy."

"I…" He shook slightly, before managing to push away, face a dark red. "I gotta get ready for work, Squilliam."

He might not have spoken French, but he understood that. And why Squilliam insisted on repeating those words, Squidward couldn't understand. They were rivals at worst, fuck-buddies at best. Highly compatible fuck-buddies, yes, and truly, Squidward DID like Squilliam, at least somewhat. But was there really a need to complicate everything?

How long before Squilliam insisted on Squidward reciprocating affection? Or was this just a part of Squilliam's usual games? Squidward certainly didn't know, nor did he believe he'd ever fully understand. Better to just avoid it for now, think about it later (or never). Walk away and hope everything would be something akin to normal once he returned. More "voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir", less "J'adore".

His exit was played out to the soundtrack of Squilliam's laughter, far more inviting than Squidward cared to admit.


	3. Inspiration

_A/N: Lawdy, I forgot I had an account on here._

Squidward awoke none too pleased at four in the morning, Squilliam poised over his belly with a marker digging into his skin.

"W…wha…?" The cashier sat up, propping his arms beneath him.

"Don't move," Squilliam muttered, coloring in a circle he'd drawn on Squidward's torso.

"Don't move? Why are you drawing on me?"

Unibrow arched in annoyance, and perhaps mild amusement (to be fair, Squilliam nearly always looked mildly amused). "Does this look like a simple doodle to you? Hmm?"

"No, it looks like…" Squidward tilted his head slightly, finally noting the—well, the notes. "You're writing a song." It was too early in the morning for Squidward to be more descriptive in his observation than that.

"Uh huh," The silence was not particularly thick, punctured by soft breathing and the gentle scratch of the marker tip. "For violin. I'm presenting it at seven."

"PM?"

"No. AM."

It took Squidward a moment to realize this wasn't sarcasm. Though, to be fair on poor Squiddy, it WAS four in the morning; sarcasm detection usually doesn't fully mature until at least five (AM, as Squilliam would be able to point out).

"Seven fucking AM? Why didn't you write it before now?"

"Wasn't inspired. Now," He finished a half note, "I am."

"And you thought 'oh, hey, I'll write my song on Squidward instead of on sheet music!' REAL brilliant strategy there, Fancyson. Are they going to have to read the notes off my skin?"

Squilliam pouted, eyes large as they raised to meet Squidward's. "Well, you inspired me. I figured the closer we were, the more inspired I'd remain."

"Yeah, well—"

_You inspired me._

The sentence lingered in Squidward's mind, face turning a murky pink. "I inspired you?" He said weakly.

"Yes."

"How'd I—"

"Stop talking!" Squilliam smacked Squidward's thigh slightly. "You're making your stomach shake. The staff's going to be all wiggly now."

Even the scolding couldn't deflate Squidward's high spirits. _HE_ had inspired Squilliam. The great billionaire prodigy Squilliam Fancyson III had sought the musing of a mere cashier (granted, a genius in his own right, Squidward was quick to remind himself).

Though once seven came, and Squidward had to serve as (nude) sheet music for the violin trio Squilliam had composed for, his spirits may have fallen ever so slightly.


End file.
